Lost
by SheWhoDaresWins
Summary: Albus Dumbledore gave Hermione a last chance to win the war and save her friends. But you can't just up and travel nearly 20 years into the past without SOME repercussions. How does one survive in the past, with the weight of the world on their shoulders? It's enough to drive you crazy. To make you desperate. To let the monster free. Question is ... Who is Jekyll and who is Hyde?
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: It's a long time since I tried to write anything but this has been floating in my brain for a while. It will take a while to get going. I've rated it M as i'm fairly sure there will be mature content down the line but it'll be a good while until we get there. So if you're here for smut - you'll be here for a while. Grab a chair. Get comfy.**

 **Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. I've half inched an idea from here, a theme from there, a universe from J. and added a sprinkle of my imagination.**

 **Another Disclaimer: Whilst I am going to attempt to try and stay as close to canon as I can - there's going to be a lot of content here that I am creating myself especially considering this is set, mostly, after the marauders leave Hogwarts.**

 _Pay me no heed until your need is desperate_

 _and then I will appear._

 _I am your beacon of hope in the darkness_

 _called forward by your fear._

 _Miss Granger,_

 _I fear if you are reading this missive the situation is most dire. In my final days, for that is surely what these must be, I have come to understand that I have left far too much to chance. Blame my age, or my sentiment, but it matters not. I have failed you all and now you must right the wrongs I have created._

 _This confession was spelled to only reveal itself to you when your heart had truly given up all hope that there would be victory for the light in the war. If that is true, and you do not think that Harry can destory the Horcruxes - then I can offer one last piece of 'help'._

 _I have created a spell and placed the enchantment upon this very page. It will allow one person, and only one person, to travel back in time. Far enough back to change things. I realise that I told you many times all those years ago not to meddle with time; but it appears that there is nothing we could do now to make things any worse. You will not risk being recognised or remembered by anybody in the past - I have taken as many precautions as possible in the creation of this spell to avoid the universe being ripped assunder._

 _Your body will travel to a pre-determined time, nineteen seventy nine to be precise, and immediately fall into a travel induced coma until it is again in the time it is supposed to be. Your consciousness however, will seek out the closest appropriate vessell and gain control. The consciousness of the vessell will be dormant for the entirety of your possession and you will, to all who behold you, be that person._

 _Why have I left this task in your hands? I know this must be one of only a thousand questions you have for me right now, but it is the only one I can answer. Love. Intelligence. Power. These are all vitally important to our cause and you possess all three in such quantities that it astounds even me. Love, Miss Granger, will be your most important tool. Your love for your friends is truly beautiful to behold; but your love for every creature who may need it - willingly given and never with limitation, is why I have chosen you for this task. It will be that love, that purity, that I am sure will guide you through what will undoubtedly be a lonely, cruel and dangerous journey._

 _I cannot promise you success. I do not know if things will be better. They could be worse. The consequences of your actions could be far reaching and terrible. Save somebody who died in our timeline and they could go on to marry somebody who they did not and a friend could never be born. Accidently cause somebody who lived to die and again, people could never be born. Ministers could never raise to power. Teachers could never decide to teach. I am sure you understand what I am saying. You will suffer. You will lose people you love and you will have to make decisions so difficult that I cannot even say how sorry I am to let you make._

 _I ask this of you for the Greater Good and the future of our world. I ask this of you for Harry. I ask this of you for me, selfish as that is._

 _If you choose to accept my help, all you have to do is hold this parchment to your heart and say "I accept the beacon, light my way." If you do not - I pray for you Miss Granger and hope with all of my being that I am wrong, and that you are victorious._

 _Forgive me my sins,_

 _Albus Dumbledore._


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione slammed the book closed, her heart beating wildly. Her face was flushed and her brow sweaty. She was angry. She most definitely had not given up hope! Ron may have gone, and Harrys' wand may have broken, and Godrics Hollow may not have gotten them any closer to the next Horcrux, and she may not have any idea where to go next, but she had not given up hope! Hermione Granger did not give up! She researched, she considered, she planned and then she found the answer and won. It was a thing! It was her thing! Hadn't her room mates even sang that stupid song when she was getting ready for bed?

 _Hermy, Hermy she's always right._

 _Her hairs only curly because she's uptight._

 _She could be pretty if we gave her a new look,_

 _but her heads always caught up in some stupid book._

 _Oh Hermy, Hermy she's always right._

 _We want her on our team - she's good in a fight!_

It was stupid. It was childish. Lavender had invented it after she punched Draco in their third year and it had annoyingly, irrevocably stuck. But now the song was filling with her with new found resolve. She certainly WAS good in a fight and she was damned if she were going to give up now.

Resolutely, she pulled up her robe sleeves, tucked her stray curl behind her ear and pulled a quill and parchment toward her, ready to begin again with a list of possible Horcrux locations.

 _. . . A few weeks later._

Hermione stroked the cover of the story book idly. It was never far her from her side these days. She felt comforted by its presence. She DIDN'T need it. But the comfort of having the option there ... well it helped her sleep at night. Dumbledore trusted her. Dumbledore hadn't abandoned them on a hopeless quest. He had left them an option.

She rolled over and shifted her weight to her other arm, a smile resting on her lips as she caught sight of Ron and Harry sleeping soundly just a few feet away from her. She had been so glad when Ron had come back she had thought her heart would burst from the joy. And they had the Sword! She was filled with confidence and vigour again. She knew everything would be okay, she just knew. She let her gaze rest on the boys for a few moments longer before closing her eyes and letting sleep drift over her.

 _. . . A few weeks later._

Hermione screamed in agony. The blade cutting against her flesh felt like fire. Her arm was pulsing in the older witches grasp and she could feel every nail on the womans hand digging into her wrist. The nails were filed into sharp talons and Hermione was sure each one was puncturing her skin. Like the knife wasn't bad enough,

"Please." Hermione begged quietly, tears spilling from her eyes and leaving a salty path down her reddened cheeks, "Please, I didn't take anything! I don't know who was in your vault. I didn't DO anything!"

"Liar." The other witch whispered softly. She was smiling at Hermione. It was a gentle smile, almost motherly. She was rubbing Hermiones' wrist softly in a circular motion. A bystander would take it for a soothing gesture, but Hermione knew better. The woman was feeling for a pulse, for where was best to cut her again, "I don't believe the words that filthy, little mudbloods say precious. You all lie. You lie and you steal. There was nothing in my vault that needed your tainted hands on it. Everything was pure. And it. Was. MINE!"

"I p-p-promise!" Hermione squeeked out, "I promise it wasn't me!"

The other witch, Bellatrix Lestrange, laughed mercilesly, and pressed her blade deeper into Hermiones arm, dragging it down slowly from elbow to wrist in a long cut,

"I think the world should be able to see who you are don't you precious? I think people should know when they are in the presence of a mud blood."

 _. . . A few weeks later._

Hermione was sobbing hysterically. She couldn't, wouldn't believe it. Harry wouldn't die. He couldn't just leave them. She could see him, in Hagrids arms, right in front of her, limp and lifeless. But she wouldn't believe it.

She saw Ginny run forward, heard her screaming. She saw Neville collapse, shattered, at the side of her. She saw the tears running freely from Hagrids eyes land on Harrys' face. He didn't blink. He didn't react. He was motionless. Dead.

She gulped in a great breath of air and reached into her pocket. Her fingers curled around a tattered piece of parchment. She continued to gasp and gulp for a moment, trying to regulate her breathing and calm down but it was no good. There was no calm if Harry was gone,

"I accept the beacon, light my way." She whispered solemnly. She gazed lovingly at the body of her dearest friend and let the tears fall. She reached out her other hand toward him but he was too far away. She tried to take a step; everything went black and she felt the world fall away.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione felt nothing. It was a strange, surreal thing. She had been in a war, she was covered in cuts and knew that her eyes should be stinging and her face raw from the trails of tears, but she felt nothing. She was light as air, floating in the strange, blurry fog that addled her brain. Rationally, she knew that it was a relief to have a moment free of pain, and yet she couldn't feel even that. She could think it, analyse it, debate it with herself even, but for nought. Was this what death was? Was she dead? Had she left her earthly troubles and battered body behind and surrendered her soul to the afterlife? Or maybe she was becoming a ghost? Something about those ideas didn't click right in her mind. She would of remembered being killed surely.

 _"I accept the beacon, light my way."_

The phrase was stuck in her mind, replaying itself over and over. It took her what seemed like hours to remember what had happened.

Harry had died. Fred, Tonks, Remus, Lavender. All gone. She could see Hogwarts in her minds eye, tall and imposing as always. But it had taken on a dark pallor in her mind now. Gone was the mysterious aura and mischievous twinkle that had surrounded the old castle, replaced by a sinister green smog curling and twisting around every parapet and tower. Voldemort had won. She had accepted Dumbledore's last shred of hope and said his spell. She racked her brains for the details of his letter.

 _Your consciousness however, will seek out the closest appropriate vessel and gain control._

Either something had gone horribly wrong with his spell, or she was still tied to her comatose body waiting for whatever or whomever Dumbledore would of deemed worthy. How long would she be waiting for somebody appropriate? One week? Three? Hermione cast the thoughts aside and decided her time would be better spent developing a plan.

He had said that her body would remain comatose until it caught up with its own time. She had left in June 1998. Nineteen years was a long time to spend pulling strings in the past. She would need a good cover. Stability. A job. Dumbledore hadn't mentioned what would happen to her if she should happen to accidentally get herself killed in her host body. Would she return to her own body and sleep for the rest of the time until time caught up? Would she die? Would the spell break? She would need to be extra careful not to find out.

He had been so vague, and had Hermione been able to feel anything properly in her current situation it would have been frustration. She hated not having all the information. Would she be able to access the memories of the person she was inhabiting? People would notice immediately if she forgot names, dates, where she worked. And what would happen to the person? Dumbledore had said that their conscious would be dormant. Would they be aware of what was happening, like she was now? And how could she ever say sorry enough to somebody whose life she was going to steal nineteen years of. How could Dumbledore of willingly invented a spell that had consequences like this. It was practically murder. Possession. Forcefully taking over somebody unwilling. Hermione made a mental note to explore all options once she could get to a library. She may have decided to try to save the world, but she was going to do it on her terms and they surely didn't involve stealing nineteen years from somebody while they watched from a mental cage.

Her musings were cut short, Hermione didn't know how long it had been, when she suddenly felt something. She could feel grass against her toes, and eyelashes tickling her eyelids. She could feel a cold breeze against her face and a shiver pass over her.

She looked down at herself. She was wearing a floaty, white summer dress covered by a set of delicate lace robes that had tassels on the fringes. She wore no shoes and noticed that her finger and toe nails were painted a vibrant shade of purple. This was most definitely not the body of Hermione Granger.


End file.
